The Hunter's Return
by NamesGo321
Summary: Gaston managed to survive his tumble from the top of the Beast's castle, however, not completely unscathed. Now, he finds himself being dependent on people for the first time in his life and must leave his arrogant ways behind. Rated M for later reasons. Oh and this is my first story. (I don't own Beauty and the Beast, just Fleur)
1. Chapter 1

Gaston gasped for breath. Dark spots clouded his vision as he barely made out his surroundings. He tried to push himself up further out of the freezing current and up the sandy bank. His right arm burned, his head throbbed, and his body ached. He slumped back onto the ground feeling tiny grains of sand finding their way into the waterlogged mess of an arm. He tried to string together a lieu of curses but his throat was dry and burned. No sound came out. His damp hair clung to his neck, his clothes were shredded. A sharp chill froze his bones as his teeth chattered together. The dark spots in his vision grew and he could feel himself losing consciousness. He was going to die here, he knew it. Oh, how far he had fallen. Once a man among men, his strength marveled by many, he was now lying pitifully on his deathbed with no one to find him. His closest companions were gone. The damned Beast. His jaw clenched as searing pain went up his right arm. The damned bitch. All of this would've been avoided if she had just agreed to marry him. How could she have chosen such a horrendous …thing? Over him? With a snarl, Gaston pushed himself over onto his back, his thick black hair fanning out around him in a halo, and he clutched his injured arm. He could smell the rotting flesh that surrounded the gaping wound, a long deep cut into the once spectacular appendage. Gaston's breaths were shallow and he felt his eyes beginning to close. That damned woman! He was going to die here, he knew it, but he couldn't just yet. He had unfinished business with that filthy mongrel that stole his woman.

Even in his feverish state, Gaston heard a branch crack and the hunter within took hold. He shot up in the direction of the noise, taking in the silhouette of a person, a woman, a small one… before he groaned in pain and slumped back into the sand, darkness consuming him as he heard a faint feminine voice calling out to him, "monsieur? Monsieur?"

Fleur had decided to walk along the river that morning because she though it was pretty. The thick fog, the waterlogged branches washed up onto the bank, the fast moving current from the storm the previous day. She knew this route well, off the path. Her bare feet sunk into the cool sand, her log copper hair flickered in the wind. She knew this area well. She hopped over a few huge logs, the hem of her skirt getting snagged on a branch. She sighed, and tugged at the tattered fabric until it tore loose from the gnarled branch. She turned and nearly gasped at what lay on the ground a few yards in front of her. A huge man with dark hair lay on his back. He didn't appear to be breathing. He was a dead man, obviously. She should turn and go. Leave. But her curiosity was getting the better of her. She took another step forward cautiously. A branch snapped beneath her foot and she nearly screamed in terror as the man shot up. His piercing blue eyes, enhanced by their bloodshot surroundings, stared straight into hers, his dark hair falling into his face, his lip bloodied, his cheek swollen and bruised. He looked like a wild animal. He let out a howl as he slumped back to the ground.

Fleur rushed to him, "Monsieur? Monsieur? Hold on, ok? You're going to be fine." She slid onto her knees beside the man, taking in his condition. His breaths here shallow, his shirt was torn. She noticed he was clutching onto his right arm. Fleur fought to keep the bile from rising in her throat when she caught sight of, and a whiff, of the waterlogged rotten wound. "Monsieur. If you can hear me, I'm going to get you help. Just please. Don't die."

The man groaned in response as Fleur hopped to her feet and bolted. The nearest town wasn't too far away. She tended to avoid towns but this was urgent. She knew the man needed a doctor. She also knew that she better have a story prepared for how she came across this man.

It must have been a shocking sight seeing this young woman burst into town in sheer panic; her light eyes wide, her skin white as a sheet.

"Please! Someone! We need help!"

Monsieur Renard set his rolls down gently as he approached the young woman, "mademoiselle? Is everything all right? You look as though you've seen a ghost"

The woman clung to him immediately in despair, tears welling up in her eyes. Townspeople gathered around her, whispers circulating through the crowd as to who was this woman. "Monsieur, my..my husband. We were.. traveling not to far from here..We are recently married, you see.. Bandits. Bandits attacked us and.. and he tried to protect me, he did, but he was badly injured and pushed into the river. They made off with everything we owned. He was swept downstream by the current. I searched for days until I found him on the bank not to far from here. Please! He needs a doctor. Can anyone help me?"

"Madame… His arm… amputation… no other way."

Gaston heard bits and pieces of people talking as he came to. His vision was blurred but he made out that he was in a room. He froze. Amputation? Never! He snarled and used his good arm and seized the nearest figure, he hazily saw a young woman, and managed to choke out, "no", before falling back to the bed.

Fleur had to admit she was getting carried away with helping this man as she spun the tale of how she and her husband had been traveling to Paris for their honeymoon and the bandits attacked them. As she talked to the police, she gave out fake descriptions of what she thought the men who attacked them looked like. Her dress was already torn so she did appear to look like she had been attacked. The townspeople took pity on her for losing everything, including her wedding ring, and possibly her new husband. She spun a tale about how heroic her, as she now called him, Jean had been as he fought the monstrous bandits to protect his beautiful little wife.

The innkeeper was a kindly old woman who offered Fleur and "Jean" a room to stay in while he recovered, no charge necessary. Fleur smiled and thanked her, offering to help with anything Madame Blanchet needed around the inn.

Fleur looked uneasily at the black haired man who writhed in pain as the doctor explained that the damage to his arm might be too severe. That amputation would most likely be necessary. Fleur looked at "Jean", feeling a great sadness. He looked like a man who prided himself on being at the peak of his physical being. It would be a shame for a man who must have been very handsome to lose such an asset. Fleur gasped as she felt a strong ice cold hand wrap around her arm as she was pulled towards the bed. She came face to face with "jean", which looked as though he had been listening to the doctor the whole time. "No" was the only word that came from his raspy deep voice. Fleur nodded, understanding, before turning to the doctor. The old man regarded the feverish man on the bed with great pity before turning to his small wife. She was remarkable, handling the situation quite well. She was very brave to be facing this alone. He would help her.

"You see, doctor, my husband cannot possibly lose his arm. He is a carpenter by trade and that is his whole life. His father and his father's father before him were carpenters as well; it runs in his blood… to lose that would. Kill him."

The doctor nodded understandingly, his brow knitted into a wave of worried wrinkles. "I will save his arm. But you must understand that he may experience great pain still even when the wound is healed. The strength in his arm will not return to its original state. But. He will heal."

Fleur beamed and hugged the doctor, "thank you, Monsieur."

The old man nodded gravely before returning to his patient and proceeded with the procedure. He hacked away at the rotten and dead flesh before he stitched up the gaping wound. He set the man's arm and bandaged before turning back to the young woman. "Madame Cloutier.. He will need to be watched through the night. If anything happens, come get me. Keep his fever down."

Fleur nodded and watched as the doctor left the room. She turned to the man lying in the bed who now was sleeping peacefully. She took this time to really look at the man. He was large.. larger than any man she had seen before, granted she hadn't seen many men. His thick black hair was coated in sweat, his skin pale. Her eyes traveled down to his defined cheekbones and angular face down to his sculpted chest and toned muscles. His chest rose steadily. She smiled slightly, proud in herself in saving this man, before whispering quietly, "thank you for not dying on me, Jean." Throughout most of the night, Fleur put cold rags on his forehead and reduced his fever. She tended to him tirelessly. She sat on the floor next to the bed, watching the clock pass from hour to hour. Her eyelids drooped and she rested her head on the edge of the bed, falling asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Gaston woke to a bright light gleaming into his eyes. He mumbled a torrent of curses, closing his eyes and attempted to roll over. A sharp pain shot up his arm and he stiffened. Once on his back again he opened his eyes allowing them to adjust to the bright sunlight gleaming in through a large open window. He looked around at the unfamiliar settings. Dark wooden beams on the ceiling, tacky wallpaper. He was on a soft bed though which was nice. His head pounded as he took in his bandaged arm. The word amputation still rung in his head as he peaked under the bandage then turned his head away disgusted. That damned Beast.. that wretched wench.

"Why Madame Blanchet! Its beautiful! ..oh Madame, you shouldn't have" A bright voice chimed through the cracked door. Gaston's head rung at the sound. Any other day, the voice would've been tolerable but with this headache it was almost as bad as LeFou's. Only Lefou complimented him. With his good hand he pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. Where was the fool Lefou anyways. Where was he? This room looked very unfamiliar.

"Well, Camille. After that tragedy happened to you and your husband, it's the least I could do. Besides your dress was in ruins and a woman as beautiful as yourself shouldn't wear rags."

"Merci, Madame!"

Gaston rolled his eyes at the shrill voices. Women. The door was pushed open with a loud creak and Gaston watched as a young woman twirled into the room and set a bunch of fabric onto a chair in the corner. She giggled to herself, tracing the fabric with her dainty hands. She was a tiny thing, he reckoned she wouldn't even come up to his chest. Though surprisingly for such a tiny frame she had… ample assets. He watched as her small body spun around the room, her coppery hair covering her face. She made her way to the table beside his bed. Though he enjoyed looking at her body, he was growing impatient with her. How could she not even notice he was awake? He regarded her for a few more moments as she laid out a fresh towel and poured clean water into the basin before he cleared his throat.

* * *

"Well, Camille. After that tragedy happened to you and your husband, it's the least I could do. Besides your dress was in ruins and a woman as beautiful as yourself shouldn't wear rags."

Fleur beamed and pulled the old woman into a bonecrushing hug. "merci, Madame!" The innkeeper smiled as Fleur inspected the new dress, twirling around with it. The young woman no doubt still had a beautiful sense of childlike wonder. Something that was quite rare these days. Madame Blanchet knew there was something special about this Camille Cloutier and how lucky her husband Jean was to have such a caring girl at his side.

Fleur pushed open the door of the room, almost forgetting about the sick man in the bed. She was too caught up in the new things people were giving her. This man was truly a wonderful thing. A new dress, free lodging, food, warm bath. Fleur smiled as she twirled and hummed to herself. She enjoyed being Camille Cloutier, whoever that may be. People took pity on Camille unlike Fleur. The open window had aired out the smell of the infection. She knew she should wash Jean off before the doctor came around. She lifted up the pitcher of water and moved over to the basin on the nightstand by the bed.

She began to pour the fresh water into the basin when she heard a clear raspy "ahem" from beside her. Fleur gasped, nearly dropping the pitcher as she spun to see the man sitting up. His piercing gaze focused entirely on her. Fleur turned beat red, how long had he been watching her? Why is he still staring at her? "uhm.. Oh..uh good you're awake! Goodnesss, you gave me such a scare. How are you feeling? Does your arm hurt? I made sure they didn't..yknow…. chop it off.. as per your request. Uhm.. Do you need anything? Oh! Whats your name? where did you come from, how did you get injured?" Fleur pushed her hair out of her face as she grilled the man, her heart pounding while she continued her rambles. What if he couldn't talk?

"Shut up, woman."

Fleur gaped at the man as he rubbed his forehead in annoyance.

* * *

All thoughts of her being slightly attractive were gone the moment she opened her mouth. Women needed to be quiet, docile creatures who only spoke when spoken to. But this girl… Who was this wench anyways? Gaston's jaw clenched as she questioned him. He needed to silence her.

"Shut up woman." He rasped out, his throat hurt from the lack of use. It was dry. Water, he needed water.

There was silence as the chattering immediately stopped. He looked up to see her staring at him, her face cherry red, her eyes wide with a glimmer of offense and mouth agape.

"Well, woman? Make yourself useful. Water" He hissed before shutting his eyes to shield them from the bright light and awaited the young woman to bring him the glass of water.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur."

"Water!" He growled, annoyed with this woman.

Then he felt it. Ice cold water soaked his head and crawled down the back of his neck as he let out a howl in surprise. His eyes snapped open in a rage focusing on the young woman who had her arms folded, pitcher in hand a smug smirk graced her pretty features.

* * *

Fleur stared down at the man triumphantly. He was enraged, his nostrils flaring. For a moment, Fleur was frightened by the intensity of his glare and as he began to push himself out of the bed but as soon as he tried getting up he winced and let out a hiss in pain.

Fleur went from infuriated to worried, "Monsieur! Please.. Don't move to much. Your arm is still badly injured." She grabbed the glass of water and brought it to him. He reached out for the glass but she held it just outside of his reach, as she stared tauntingly at him.

"Next time, Monsieur. Ask nicely. A little Please and Thank you would be nice. Afterall I did save you." She sweetly whispered into his ear before handing him the glass. He growled out a response, his jaw tense. Fleur giggled at how annoyed her Jean.. the man… was. She took the glass from him after he had drunk his fill and looked at him expectantly.

Gaston never thought he'd enjoy the taste of water so much. Oh how it was so wonderful on his throat. The pure joy of the liquid immediately distracted him from the woman in front of him. That infuriating little.. how dare she speak to him in such a way. When he was done, she took the glass and stood there waiting.

Gaston cocked an eyebrow at her, utterly annoyed and bitter. "What." He asked flatly.

She gestured to the glass and looked at him. He rolled his eyes and turned his head away from her. He heard the small sigh and the glass being set on the table. "Who the hell are you and where am I?" He finally snarled at her.

Fleur was a little taken aback by his question and how brutish this man was. For some reason she had an ideal vision of how he would be, simply dashing. Charming. But this man.. he was a brute. A Beast.

Fleur sat on the chair near the bed, smoothing out the fabric of her new dress that sat beside her, "Well, Monsieur. For all intents and purposes, I am Camille Cloutier, your wife. And you are Monsieur Jean Cloutier, my husband. We are about a 5 days walk from Paris, in a small town along the river."

The man scoffed, "Your husband? Hah. Woman, do I look like a Jean to you?"

Fleur rolled her eyes, "Not anymore. No.. Monsieur, you look more like a donkey now more than ever." Fleur stood, "Now if you need me, _Husband_, I will be getting you something to eat. You looked starved."

This was a horrible decision to help this man. This was the thanks hse got? Being ordered around by some… some...brute. She huffed as she exited the room. She exhaled slowly before regaining her cheery attitude for the Blanchets.

Gaston watched her hips sway as she stomped out of the room. Despite her futile attempts to be dominant over him and her disrespectful attitude, he suppose this girl could be useful. He smirked slightly, in more ways than one. He chuckled to himself, her husband? Please.

**Ahh! Yeah. Two chapters in one day. Let me know what y'all think! I'm trying to capture Gaston's piggish boarish attitude as well as making him bitter because lets face. he wouldn't be bitter after plummeting off of a castle? **

**uh yeah. Thats all folks for now!**


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